March 7, 2022 • 10 mins
Take a stroll through the Fairfax District affectionately known as Little Russia and get to the know its unique inhabitants.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Frank Hannah (00:01):
Years ago, I lived in a small apartment on Hayworth
Avenue in the Fairfax district,affectionately known as Little
Russia. This was because a lotof Russian immigrants had
settled there. The evidence ofthis can be found in the
countless Russian markets,pharmacies and restaurants that
(00:22):
are scattered across the area.
On Sundays, it was not uncommonto smell the strong smell of
borscht wafting from the openwindows in the neighborhood. It
was both inviting and repulsive.
The strong earthy smell of beetsand garlic mixed with onions and
(00:43):
be fat. As overpowering as itwas when I first moved there, it
became a welcoming smell thattold me I was near home. In the
apartment next to mine liftthree generations of Russians.
The oh geez as I call them, whowent to the Black Sea for
(01:04):
seafood drinks and dancing on aSaturday night, their married
son and daughter in law andtheir young daughter. They were
insular and said very little tome. It was as if they saw me as
a transient slumming it in aneighborhood they would still be
in long after I had moved on.
There were large, scary tattooedmen that would come and go at
(01:29):
all hours of the day and night.
There were frequent argumentswhich to be fair, could have
just been lively conversations.
When people get loud in Russian,it can be hard to know for sure.
I used to imagine they were wellconnected Russian mobsters. It
didn't scare me, however, butnot for the reason you might
(01:51):
think. While they wereadequately frightening at times,
it really did seem to me thatnobody was gonna fuck with them.
And if we lived in the samebuilding, logic told me nobody
was gonna fuck with me either.
My upstairs landlady was an 87year old German woman named Ada
(02:13):
whose forearms were formidablelike Popeye and she spoke with a
charming German accent.
Sometimes when describing aperson to me, she would say he
felt sad cloud you know. She hadnever driven a day in her life.
But listen to traffic reports onam radio almost around the clock
could hear them at 3am belchingout the same information over
(02:36):
and over again. But she was asweetheart. As is often the case
when you live in the Hollywoodarea. You discover your
neighbors were once somebodyfamous or held a prestigious
position somewhere in the cityfor Ida she was the hostess at
Duke bars, a legendaryinstitution serving diner food,
(02:59):
coffee and pie. She held thisposition for over 30 years and
had seen a lot of people comeand go. And while she wasn't a
glamorous actress or a formerlover of Rudy Valentino, she was
one of the many characters Icame to know during my stay in
little Russia. A few yearslater, I was coming home late on
(03:21):
a Saturday night. It must havebeen 2am I had to park a block
away from my apartment, which isthe curse of only having street
parking, and an apartmentwithout a garage. When I stepped
out of my car, I saw a yellowcab in the middle of the street.
The driver was a small pixie ofa woman. She looked concerned
(03:41):
and was thankful I'd shown up.
Excuse me. She looked me dead inthe eyes and asked, Can you help
me with him? Him I thought, Whois she talking about? I only see
her help you with whom? I asked.
She simply answered him. While Iwas intrigued. She opened the
(04:04):
back door to the cab and they'rewedged between the front and
back seats was a drunk mancompletely passed out. I knew he
was drunk because the smell ofbooze was so strong. My eyes
began to water. He was a big mantoo. And he was really wedged in
there. I decided to take actionand firmly tapped him on the
(04:26):
shoulder. Come on, pal. Youcan't sleep here. Time to get up
and go home. Well, he wakes upand begin screaming at me. Get
your fucking hands off me.
That's my best Russian accentsorry. So I take my hands off.
I'm going to say fine, let's go.
The tone of his voice changesalmost instantaneously. Help me
(04:49):
please help me. I actually feltsorry for the guy. So I reached
down to help him in the secondmy hand touches him He screams
again.
Don't fucking touch me. I'llfucking kill you. Make up your
mind dude. Which is it you wanthelp or not? Again, the tone of
(05:12):
his voice changed. Help me,please help me. I fall for it
again and reach down to unfuckthis guy from his situation.
Don't you fucking touch me, Ikill you. At this point I was
done. Or so I thought I turnedto the cab driver and told her
(05:34):
just call a cop. Call 911 I'mout of here. She nods. She does
her cell phone and while it'sringing and ringing, she pleads
with me. Can you stay until theyget here? Oh, I wanted to say
no. But all I could see ishaving to smoke a huge turd in
(05:54):
purgatory if anything happenedto this poor woman. So against
my better judgment. I stayed.
Well, how long could it take forthe cops to arrive? Well, let me
tell you something. Wherever itis, you think drunk Russian
stuck in cab falls on the policepriority list. I'm here to tell
you it's lower. Much much lower.
(06:17):
I heard gurgling sounds I lookedthe man was vomiting onto the
floor of the cab. An endlessspew poured out of him followed
by a bubbling gurgle that rolledat the back of his throat. The
evacuation of his stomach musthave helped because now he was
full throated in his threats ofviolence against anyone who
would dare to answer his criesfor help. The sounds traveled in
(06:40):
the night air. Soon windows werebeing thrown open. Neighbors
were yelling for him to shut thefuck up. Then other awakened
neighbors appeared in theirpajamas and sweats and impromptu
Think Tank convened to decidewhat to do. There were two
opposing solutions, one yank himfrom the curb and leave them in
(07:02):
the street to do nothing and letthe police handle it. All of
this did nothing to solve myimmediate problem. None of these
proposals included them tellingme to go home to bed without
looking back. You might even beasking yourself why was this
such a hard problem to solve?
just yank him out. He won'tremember shit. But no, you can't
(07:23):
do that because if somethinghappens to him, you'll be
culpable. He could sue you. Thelast thing anyone should do is
lay a finger on this man. Thedebate raged on and loudly.
Finally, a man emerged from hisapartment and just as boxer
shorts and nothing else. Hepushed past all of us and
(07:45):
grabbed the drunk man and yankedhim out of the cab onto the cold
asphalt. Without saying a word,he pushed past us again and went
back into his apartment tosleep. The think tank convened
again. We can't leave this manon the street. the humane thing
would be to carry on to thesidewalk, which we did. The man
kicked and screamed all the waybefore passing out on a small
(08:08):
strip of sidewalk grass. A cabdriver rifled through his
pockets which incensed some ofthe crowd. The woman just wanted
the cab fair she was owed. Shetook a handful of bills and
shoved them into her pocket. Thestretch of sidewalk where the
man ended up was next to a gatebehind which was another of the
two dozen apartment buildings onour blog. A sleepy eyed woman
(08:30):
emerged from the building andlooked down at the unconscious
man on the ground. Do you knowthis guy I asked. The woman
never took her eyes off the moonand simply said Oh yeah. That
would be Yuri. Then to addinsult to injury, the police
(08:51):
arrived. About two hours hadpassed since the initial call.
The officer got out of the carand seemed determined to get to
the bottom of things. One ofthem said someone called in and
said there was a dead guy lyingin the street. Good to know I
thought when you saw the man wasalive but very intoxicated. He
asked if anyone could tell themwhat had happened. I volunteered
(09:14):
I said I can tell you I was thefirst one to stop and help. The
officer put his hand up in frontof me before I could finish the
sentence and said forcefullySir, sir, sir, shut the fuck up.
The squash down rage of everyshit sandwich I'd ever been
forced to eat was now at theback of my throat. Hey, I
(09:34):
shouted, fuck you. I flipped himthe bird with both hands before
turning and walking to my ownapartment. No good deed, etc,
etc, etc. In the following daysand weeks, I would spot URI
walking his little dog hangingaround the outside of his
apartment building.
(09:56):
I never once mentioned theincident to him. I wondered if
He even remembered that any ofit had even happened I smiled to
myself because I would rememberit for him for the rest of my
life
Years ago, I lived in a small apartment on Hayworth
Avenue in the Fairfax district,affectionately known as Little
Russia. This was because a lotof Russian immigrants had
settled there. The evidence ofthis can be found in the
countless Russian markets,pharmacies and restaurants that
(00:22):
are scattered across the area.
On Sundays, it was not uncommonto smell the strong smell of
borscht wafting from the openwindows in the neighborhood. It
was both inviting and repulsive.
The strong earthy smell of beetsand garlic mixed with onions and
(00:43):
be fat. As overpowering as itwas when I first moved there, it
became a welcoming smell thattold me I was near home. In the
apartment next to mine liftthree generations of Russians.
The oh geez as I call them, whowent to the Black Sea for
(01:04):
seafood drinks and dancing on aSaturday night, their married
son and daughter in law andtheir young daughter. They were
insular and said very little tome. It was as if they saw me as
a transient slumming it in aneighborhood they would still be
in long after I had moved on.
There were large, scary tattooedmen that would come and go at
(01:29):
all hours of the day and night.
There were frequent argumentswhich to be fair, could have
just been lively conversations.
When people get loud in Russian,it can be hard to know for sure.
I used to imagine they were wellconnected Russian mobsters. It
didn't scare me, however, butnot for the reason you might
(01:51):
think. While they wereadequately frightening at times,
it really did seem to me thatnobody was gonna fuck with them.
And if we lived in the samebuilding, logic told me nobody
was gonna fuck with me either.
My upstairs landlady was an 87year old German woman named Ada
(02:13):
whose forearms were formidablelike Popeye and she spoke with a
charming German accent.
Sometimes when describing aperson to me, she would say he
felt sad cloud you know. She hadnever driven a day in her life.
But listen to traffic reports onam radio almost around the clock
could hear them at 3am belchingout the same information over
(02:36):
and over again. But she was asweetheart. As is often the case
when you live in the Hollywoodarea. You discover your
neighbors were once somebodyfamous or held a prestigious
position somewhere in the cityfor Ida she was the hostess at
Duke bars, a legendaryinstitution serving diner food,
(02:59):
coffee and pie. She held thisposition for over 30 years and
had seen a lot of people comeand go. And while she wasn't a
glamorous actress or a formerlover of Rudy Valentino, she was
one of the many characters Icame to know during my stay in
little Russia. A few yearslater, I was coming home late on
(03:21):
a Saturday night. It must havebeen 2am I had to park a block
away from my apartment, which isthe curse of only having street
parking, and an apartmentwithout a garage. When I stepped
out of my car, I saw a yellowcab in the middle of the street.
The driver was a small pixie ofa woman. She looked concerned
(03:41):
and was thankful I'd shown up.
Excuse me. She looked me dead inthe eyes and asked, Can you help
me with him? Him I thought, Whois she talking about? I only see
her help you with whom? I asked.
She simply answered him. While Iwas intrigued. She opened the
(04:04):
back door to the cab and they'rewedged between the front and
back seats was a drunk mancompletely passed out. I knew he
was drunk because the smell ofbooze was so strong. My eyes
began to water. He was a big mantoo. And he was really wedged in
there. I decided to take actionand firmly tapped him on the
(04:26):
shoulder. Come on, pal. Youcan't sleep here. Time to get up
and go home. Well, he wakes upand begin screaming at me. Get
your fucking hands off me.
That's my best Russian accentsorry. So I take my hands off.
I'm going to say fine, let's go.
The tone of his voice changesalmost instantaneously. Help me
(04:49):
please help me. I actually feltsorry for the guy. So I reached
down to help him in the secondmy hand touches him He screams
again.
Don't fucking touch me. I'llfucking kill you. Make up your
mind dude. Which is it you wanthelp or not? Again, the tone of
(05:12):
his voice changed. Help me,please help me. I fall for it
again and reach down to unfuckthis guy from his situation.
Don't you fucking touch me, Ikill you. At this point I was
done. Or so I thought I turnedto the cab driver and told her
(05:34):
just call a cop. Call 911 I'mout of here. She nods. She does
her cell phone and while it'sringing and ringing, she pleads
with me. Can you stay until theyget here? Oh, I wanted to say
no. But all I could see ishaving to smoke a huge turd in
(05:54):
purgatory if anything happenedto this poor woman. So against
my better judgment. I stayed.
Well, how long could it take forthe cops to arrive? Well, let me
tell you something. Wherever itis, you think drunk Russian
stuck in cab falls on the policepriority list. I'm here to tell
you it's lower. Much much lower.
(06:17):
I heard gurgling sounds I lookedthe man was vomiting onto the
floor of the cab. An endlessspew poured out of him followed
by a bubbling gurgle that rolledat the back of his throat. The
evacuation of his stomach musthave helped because now he was
full throated in his threats ofviolence against anyone who
would dare to answer his criesfor help. The sounds traveled in
(06:40):
the night air. Soon windows werebeing thrown open. Neighbors
were yelling for him to shut thefuck up. Then other awakened
neighbors appeared in theirpajamas and sweats and impromptu
Think Tank convened to decidewhat to do. There were two
opposing solutions, one yank himfrom the curb and leave them in
(07:02):
the street to do nothing and letthe police handle it. All of
this did nothing to solve myimmediate problem. None of these
proposals included them tellingme to go home to bed without
looking back. You might even beasking yourself why was this
such a hard problem to solve?
just yank him out. He won'tremember shit. But no, you can't
(07:23):
do that because if somethinghappens to him, you'll be
culpable. He could sue you. Thelast thing anyone should do is
lay a finger on this man. Thedebate raged on and loudly.
Finally, a man emerged from hisapartment and just as boxer
shorts and nothing else. Hepushed past all of us and
(07:45):
grabbed the drunk man and yankedhim out of the cab onto the cold
asphalt. Without saying a word,he pushed past us again and went
back into his apartment tosleep. The think tank convened
again. We can't leave this manon the street. the humane thing
would be to carry on to thesidewalk, which we did. The man
kicked and screamed all the waybefore passing out on a small
(08:08):
strip of sidewalk grass. A cabdriver rifled through his
pockets which incensed some ofthe crowd. The woman just wanted
the cab fair she was owed. Shetook a handful of bills and
shoved them into her pocket. Thestretch of sidewalk where the
man ended up was next to a gatebehind which was another of the
two dozen apartment buildings onour blog. A sleepy eyed woman
(08:30):
emerged from the building andlooked down at the unconscious
man on the ground. Do you knowthis guy I asked. The woman
never took her eyes off the moonand simply said Oh yeah. That
would be Yuri. Then to addinsult to injury, the police
(08:51):
arrived. About two hours hadpassed since the initial call.
The officer got out of the carand seemed determined to get to
the bottom of things. One ofthem said someone called in and
said there was a dead guy lyingin the street. Good to know I
thought when you saw the man wasalive but very intoxicated. He
asked if anyone could tell themwhat had happened. I volunteered
(09:14):
I said I can tell you I was thefirst one to stop and help. The
officer put his hand up in frontof me before I could finish the
sentence and said forcefullySir, sir, sir, shut the fuck up.
The squash down rage of everyshit sandwich I'd ever been
forced to eat was now at theback of my throat. Hey, I
(09:34):
shouted, fuck you. I flipped himthe bird with both hands before
turning and walking to my ownapartment. No good deed, etc,
etc, etc. In the following daysand weeks, I would spot URI
walking his little dog hangingaround the outside of his
apartment building.
(09:56):
I never once mentioned theincident to him. I wondered if
He even remembered that any ofit had even happened I smiled to
myself because I would rememberit for him for the rest of my
life
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